


three

by thepointsdonotmatter



Series: splash brothers [3]
Category: Men's Basketball RPF
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-08 02:20:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20279137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepointsdonotmatter/pseuds/thepointsdonotmatter
Summary: Klay needs to be the rock.





	three

Steph is the leader, the face of the franchise. Draymond is the heartbeat. KD is KD – a nuclear weapon. 

Klay’s supposed to be the rock, the anchor. The guy with no drama. The guy who never gets hurt. 

It starts with a general soreness in his body when he wakes from his afternoon nap. Klay feels a little lightheaded by the time they’re boarding the plane, but he figures he’ll sleep it off. He chugs water as they take flight, watching the buildings turn into glowing pinpricks below him, and tries to curl up as best he can in his seat. 

He wakes later during a patch of turbulence. The cabin is dark, and Steph is sleeping in the seat next to him, mouth parted. Klay watches him for a moment, then reaches out to pull the other man’s blanket up where it’s slipping. 

The movement jarrs Klay's head and he massages his temples, wincing. He fishes around his bag and takes a few ibuprofen. It’ll kick in soon enough, he tells himself. Then he’ll take more before the game. He’s fine. 

Steph stirs, mumbling. Klay can see the deep bags under his eyes. People expect so much from Steph, both on and off the court. 

He thinks about the way Steph was tangled in the sheets last week, grumbling about the perpetual jet lag. He thinks about the way he had held Steph down and fucked him slowly, until he was undone, gasping Klay’s name, and how they lounged together afterward, a rare expanse where they had nothing to do, listening to the rain outside. 

\-- 

In the back of his head, he knows he should tell the medical staff something’s wrong. But the adrenaline’s enough to push him through the first quarter. Then the second. He looks up at the jumbotron and breathes a small sigh. His numbers aren’t earth-shattering, but they’re not as bad as he thought. He doesn’t sit down at halftime because he’s not sure he’d be able to get up again. 

At the top of the third he goes in for a layup, but he fumbles the ball and it’s stolen. Klay hangs his head and runs back down the court along with everyone else, heartbeat whooshing in his ears, erratic. His legs are starting to feel like blocks of lead. 

The other team gets a bucket; the crowd roars. 

Steph’s slower to dribble the ball up to half court. Klay looks back and they make eye contact. Even where he is, he can see the concern in Steph’s gaze. Klay jerks his chin – _I’m fine_ – and runs on ahead, wiping the sweat from his forehead. __

_ _A few plays later, Steph passes him the ball. Klay weaves through traffic. He elevates to attack the rim and his vision goes fuzzy. One of the defenders crashes into him. It’s not a hard hit, but it’s enough to knock him slightly off balance and in that sickening moment – he knows he won’t be able to recover. _ _

_ _He doesn’t remember the fall. _ _

_ _When he comes to he’s sprawled out, cheek pressed against the cold floor. The world won’t stop spinning. Someone is groaning, loud and prolonged and pained. It takes him several seconds to realize it’s him, and then the fear grows, like headlights pooling across a deer’s body before the crash. _ _

_ _“Where does it hurt, Klay?” someone asks. There’s a bright light in his eye. Hands on his head, neck. _ _

_ _“Everyone stay back, please.” _ _

_ _“Klay, can you hear me?” _ _

_ _“We need to move him.” _ _

_ _He vaguely makes out Steph’s sneakers among the row of legs behind the medics. His fingers curl instinctively, and he tries to reach out. _ _

_ _Klay passes out again. _ _

_ _

_ _\-- _ _

_ _

_ _They tell him it’s a combination of things: dehydration, fatigue, possibly the beginnings of the flu. And now: a mild concussion and dislocated shoulder to boot. Klay lies in a medicated haze in the hospital room. He misses the next game. He misses the flight back with the rest of the team. _ _

_ _He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror and he looks like a ghost. _ _

_ _Looking at screens for too long hurts his head, makes him nauseous. Mostly, he sleeps. His dreams are scattered and feverish. All he remembers is Steph was in them. _ _

_ _They clear him to fly after a few days. It's a lonely flight back home.___ _

__

__

_ _

_ _\--_ _

_ _

_ _He wakes and thinks he’s dreaming again, because Steph is here. _ _

_ _“Did you climb in through the window?” _ _

_ _“Man, shut up,” Steph says, smirking. He’s carrying Rocco under one arm and holding a steaming mug. “Drink this.” He says it more like a statement than an order, and Klay’s lips twitch. _ _

_ _He sits up against the headboard. Steph sets Rocco down on his lap and then climbs into the bed. _ _

_ _Klay downs the tea. It’s hot, but not scalding. Their shoulders are brushing. Slowly, he reaches down and takes Steph’s hand in his. They grip each other tightly, like children anxiously holding onto kite strings. _ _

_ _Klay’s not sure who moves first. He presses his face into Steph’s chest, and Steph’s arms wrap around him, card through his hair, gentle. Steph murmurs something, and his voice is too low to make out every word, but Klay knows exactly what he said. _ _

_ _They’ll move forward; they always do. They need to live fast, live long. They’re in their prime. They won’t stop playing ferociously, even knowing that their bodies are eroding, bit by bit, that one day they’ll be the men with stooped backs and limps on the sidelines, and all the richness of memory behind them. _ _

_ _Still, moments will bleed through where they’ll think about it, maybe even dwell on it. When Steph throws him a pass. When they take a spill, when they help each other up. When they see other guys go down. They’ll fuck violently sometimes, the fear masked by their want, and they’ll run careful fingers over the bruises later. _ _

_ _Klay will find Steph’s mouth in the quiet, and know refuge._ _


End file.
